I’m a ~Native~

Yesterday, I was lucky enough to wait on a family of nine on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in Lakewood. Not only did they run my ass off (the mother said she had worked in a restaurant and “knew how it was”), her daughter made a comment I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at.

“You know a place that’s really beautiful?” She asked. I asked where. “Seattle, Washington.”

“Oh yes, I plan on going up there next year,” I said, turning back to her after stacking their plates.

“Not to visit. To live,” she said. I looked at her quizzically. Was she really pulling the…

“We’re from here. We’re natives,” she said. Her mom looked at her like she had lost her mind. She had pulled the native card.

I didn’t get it till later that she was suggesting I moved because I, like the thousands of people who’ve migrated here, wasn’t from here. Following Colorado news in general, especially Westword opinion posts, there’s a group of stuck-up people from here who have dubbed themselves “Colorado natives.” They have bumper stickers, phone cases, hashtags. ‘Move back,’ they cry to us, thinking about the times when Colorado was wild (still is) and Denver was ghetto. ‘The traffic is just too bad!’ (which is every city in America during rush hour).

My answer for you, lady: Nah. 🙂


You and I

were made for each other’s bones

And I’m not sure who cast the spell first that warm hazy spring

But spring’s always been my favorite, the way you have since then

Whereas boys have been “just boys”

We’ve grown hand in hand and been just that

I’m thankful for you letting me chase my dreams and passions,

for they have been beyond my wildest imagination.


Dirty Old Men.

“I want you to smile and be nice to us because even though we’re dirty old men, we’re still nice guys.”

The confusing request rang in my ears. What did I just hear? In front of me, sat five men with peppery gray hair, who looked at me wondering what would happen next.

“Am I not smiling?” I said, on the brink of annoyance but not one bit surprised at this comment. Of course someone had to tell me to smile.

The “D.O.M.” (short for dirty old men, according to the ballsy mafioso) said it looked more like a grimace and at that point, I walked away.

These instances have been more prevalent this year but it’s honestly nothing new. I know what teenage boys like to think about so it’s no surprise that those transgressions eventually hit the point of “dirty old men.” But this year, I’ve felt exceptionally demonized (almost like my senior year of high school) and it’s hard to be a woman, let alone a brown one, in sensitive times. In April, the very second day I walked to work in the city, a construction worker called me a whore from across the street. It was so loud I heard it through my earphones, so loud that I turned around and the workers who stopped to see the jeer, instantly turned around. I never walked that way again, nor have I liked going near construction crews again. (I was wearing black leggings and a gray sweatshirt)

Earlier last week, I placed a salad in front of my guests and the man exclaimed, “Wow it would take you a week to eat that.” I should have taken it as a compliment but the way he looked at my body just felt wrong.

So maybe these instances are just occurring more because I live in a strange city with even stranger people, but it doesn’t mean that I have to deal with it and neither should other girls have to “deal with it” too. I’m just asking everyone as a decent human beings to think before you speak to each other, especially women. Just at least try. We are delicate orchids that need to be misted, not shocked to the system with ice cubes. And a word of advice: Never introduce yourself to anyone as a dirty old man.

The Toxicity.

I hate sharing things about myself because people have had the automatic response to call me crazy but story time.

I am two months into this “freelance thing” now, and I have been writing but every time I think about starting a story or writing up a pitch, I have been greeted by crippling anxiety (on top of decompressing after a stressful few months).

If you didn’t know: During wedding planning, we have also had to move apartments (still in Jefferson Park). I lost my wedding dress (more on that in a future post). And I am currently just working at OG (back to square one). 

What does my crippling anxiety look like? No sleep because I’m up going over every detail of everything. It was to the point where I hated my wedding day because of all the things that could have been done better (on a good day, I don’t and I loved all of it). Where I keep making insane to-do lists then stressing over the overwhelming length of it. When, even though I have worked so hard and succeeded in writing, I am still terrified of failure and rejection and humiliation and just completely talk myself out of it.

I have been doing things to somewhat help: Drink more water, do more yoga, sleep 8 hours, cook, watch cartoons and shows that I love. But it’s taken me two weeks to get out of this rut and I hate feeling why I have to explain why I haven’t been productive (so here we are). I’m hoping I get better because I have so many ideas I want to start working on. But until then, it’s a mental health day(s) for me.

I’m alive.

I am so sorry that I haven’t written on here but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing! I have been on a road to re-sparking my creativity, which means I’ve been doing a lot of personal journaling. Apparently I have a lot of pent-up emotions about everything, and that just really clouds up your flow. I want to write a book (or two), start my freelancing career into the real world (I want to write about wine and TV and drugs and animals and science lol plenty to go off of, I know), and just kick it and live. Writing has been on kind of a hiatus though for financial reasons. Last month, I moved into a new apartment in the same neighborhood because our new landlord switched to one-month leases, my internship ended so I would apply for a new job but can’t since I have to take a week off for *wait for it* MY WEDDING. So I’ve just been hardcore working at the OG (which is the easiest job for money in the world and what will be my backbone as I start to write).

I’ll try not to talk too much about my wedding because I know everyone’s over hearing about it BUT I have loved planning it from two states away and would do it again. However, working with others (i.e. our parents) has been somewhat of a game of tug of war.

So sorry for being a hermit (I’ve barely posted any pictures on social media from this year and it’s been a BIG year) but I’m thinking of making this a space of past funny recollections of my life, with the occasional deep post about life. I will also be linking any stories I write so watch out for that.

Here’s a cute picture of me and my fiancé on that note. Wearing wedges to an icy lake on top of a mountain probs wasn’t the best idea but to be fair, it was warm everywhere else at  RMNP.

Photo by Zach and Rosalie